Tax Ninja

Today I went from a Tax Virgin to a Tax Moron. This is now official as my tax accountant presented this new title in the nicest possible way.
For the last few months a bitter war has raged between my forces and the might of the Inland Revenue, they seem convinced that in the course of a year I have accrued the wealth of Croesus and now live a sybaritic lifestyle on some off shore haven. If only this were true I could at least fight might with might as it is I’ve had to employ guerilla tactics and bring in my secret weapon. An unlikely saviour, Suze, the tax accountant is well experienced at piercing the soft underbelly of the bloated Revenue Department; she is a warrior, a stealthy fighter unbowed by the colossal size of her opponent, a ninja of the tax return.

I like the cut of her jib and her twitchy, manic attack on all fronts. It’s undeniable that this small pudgy Chinese lady with a distinct camphorated air of neglect hardly seems like a fearsome opponent and yet the sheer excitement with which she juggled my figures offered a clue to her lion-like guts.
Peering through her tiny thick Dickensian spectacles she ferociously punched buttons on her calculator that for years I had assumed were there for decorative symmetry, numbers flashed and flickered, appearing for a second and then gone the next. Throughout this feverish activity she was a hunched form giving me plenty of time to carefully inspect the top of her head. Her hair was lank black, not really parted but rather scattered in all directions, each clump taking its own path with no recourse to any notion of style or fashion. Suze had the disheveled look of someone who was no stranger to a nocturnal hammering of the vodka variety and yet looks could be deceptive as her eyes sparkled and her fingers now a blur built one calculation onto the next steadily constructing the edifice of my stupidity.
What was becoming all too clear as my millions evaporated was the undeniable fact that the fault lay very close to home, so close in fact that I felt venom being replaced with concealed contempt. Unbelievably my saviour had turned turkey and was unashamedly pointing out what I could clearly see was a perfectly understandable error. Apparently not only had I committed the unprecedented crime of adding one extra zero but worse, I compounded my shameless act of rank idiocy by adding a further onerous and fallacious zero thereby causing a flutter in the heart of a certain Miss Wong who dutifully slammed me as hard as possible with a tax bill that left me gasping.
Suze in the steady voice of a concerned relative forensically dissected my mistake and made me swear a solemn oath on the Accountants Book of Big Numbers that I would never ever fill in a tax form again especially on my own.
But for all that humiliation I have to say I love that Suze, mothballs and all she’s the gal for me. At last somebody has grasped the full extent of my Numerological Numptiness and she will from now on guide me through the labyrinthine underworld of the Inland Revenue; I’ve got my very own little Tax Hobbit!

I now own a bright shiny car and I’m slowly initiating myself into the playpen world of Hong Kong driving. There are more barriers, restrictions and white lines than you can possibly imagine. Real tunnels give way to metaphorical tunnels and God help you if you end up in the wrong lane. I swear there are cars eternally circling Hong Kong looking for an exit, any exit, generations come and go but the ‘lost’ cars go on in their purgatorial circles, I know I was nearly one of them.

Finally after my last blog I can’t stop seeing wonderful bits of decrepitude, I’m now obsessed with cack handed plumbing so brace yourself for a series of thrilling photographs of deranged pipe work, leaky joints and sensational stains.

The photographs are random snaps from an earlier trip to Cebu, Philipines.

Comments

[Coral Hannaby]

Tom, truly only today I was pondering the enormity of my tax bill and wishing I had a Suze to give me clues!

I must ask: those two photos of the hybrid Merc...no, couldn't be your vehicle. It would be towed off the road here, wouldn't it?

Related to the topic of driving: roads. I call this place 'Crater City'! It is not dotted but positively blotted with one hideous crater after another to be avoided by drivers as Hong Kong transmogrifies into a massive road-works project. Yellow lanterns flash on red and white barriers like tawdry bracelets - and just as numerous, every street seems to have them, surrounding the perilous craters. I wonder if they're actually entrances that are being built for new subter(ranean)-rises?

Take care as you dodge around in your new car!
Coral

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